


the season of all natures

by pocketedwocket



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Drunkenness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-28
Updated: 2011-06-28
Packaged: 2017-10-20 19:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketedwocket/pseuds/pocketedwocket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To sleep, perchance to dream - or maybe not. Erik faces a number of sleepless nights while traveling with Charles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the season of all natures

The moonlight filters in through the plastic blinds, illuminating the room in horizontal stripes. Outside, it is still, cars lined up neatly in their parking spaces beside the motel. An orange neon VACANCY sign casts light on a shadowy figure in a chair by the window.

One bed is unmade, the sheets still tucked in, pillow still sitting untouched in front of the headboard. On the opposite side of the room, a figure, a smaller one than at the window, is tangled in the covers.

The man in the bed shifts. Eyes open.

"Erik? Go to sleep."

*

Another night, another motel. Erik and Charles leave a string of cheap motels in their wake as they travel across the country. The CIA were clearly not keen on the idea of dishing out lots of extra funding for a road trip that was exclusively for recruiting mutants.

Erik sits up in the dark reading a newspaper, his eyes periodically drifting over to one of the beds where Charles sleeps.

"You should go to bed," the murmur finally comes from across the room, breaking the sharp silence like a bullet.

Erik doesn't move from the chair and instead just flips to the next page.

*

"You haven't been sleeping," Charles points out as he sits down across from Erik with breakfast. Erik looks at his chocolate chip pancakes with a mocking look in his eye. Charles fills his glass with orange juice, then stares Erik down. It's almost intimidating. "Care to tell me why?"

Erik takes a bite of his pancakes (plain) and makes a face.

"That's a no, then," Charles assumes. "You know, I could just as easily look, but I prefer to ask-"

"Go ahead and get into my head and save us all the time, Charles," Erik says, taking a hearty sip of his black coffee. "We both know that's where this is going anyway."

"You know, I don't really-" _like it when you make it seem like I bully my way into your mind,_ Charles finishes the thought.

Erik's solid glare is enough to shut Charles up.

Charles puts a finger to his temple, and tries to pull to the surface whatever's been bothering Erik. It comes slowly, at first -

 _A motel, several motels, quiet and dark. Late, so late, and there's Charles, sleeping - dreaming? Twisting himself in the covers-_ then all of a sudden, more images bombard the connection, stronger now - _Charles whimpering, moaning and clawing at the pillow, face in agony, whining, sweatskinpain, knots in the sheets-_

Charles pulls his hand away from his face, startled. "What was that?"

Erik, still possessing a calm demeanor, sips his coffee again. "That was you."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Charles rubs at his forehead, the images still foreign and confusing. The thoughts feel out of place.

Erik finishes the last bite of his breakfast and the fork clatters against the plate as he stands up from the table a little more abruptly than intended.

"You didn't come with a guidebook."

*

Erik lies awake on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. There are only so many motel ceilings you can memorize in the dark before there's nothing new or different left.

There's only one motel bed for them this time. The woman at the front desk had said they were out of doubles, handing the key over to Erik with a wink earlier in the evening. The way she had eyed Charles pulling their duffel bags out of the car and patted his hand as she slipped the keys to Erik still sits uncomfortably in his belly; somewhere between the discomfort from his conversation with Charles several mornings ago and his string of sleepless nights.

Charles sleeps facing Erik, angling toward him unintentionally, heat radiating from his body. He's coiled up tightly, mouth open slightly, breathing in and out slowly onto the blanket. An inch closer, and Erik would feel it, tiny bursts of air against his skin.

 _Any minute now_ , Erik thinks ruefully, and sure enough, Charles begins to shiver. His hands start to form fists in the sheets, knuckles clenching the fabric tightly. Erik swallows when one of Charles' legs knock against his as the other man starts to slowly stir underneath the covers he has amassed around him.

Charles lets out a strangled cry, half-muffled by the pillow.

"Charles," Erik starts, searching for a word, for any combination of words. Charles begins to thrash against Erik, and Erik catches his wrist. Firm fingers wrap tightly and clench around a delicate wrist as Charles tries to claw at Erik, but Erik holds his arm still.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do," Erik hisses against the air, words breaking sharply against the atmosphere like shards of glass; his voice is an intrusion against the silence.

*

Erik catches a glimpse of the bruise on Charles' wrist the next morning as Charles dresses, pulling his sleeves down and buttons his cuffs. Erik is at his side in an instant, bringing Charles' wrist up closer to his eyes, handling him like a wounded bird.

"I hurt you," Erik says, turning his wrist over in his hands, examining it. He runs his thumb carefully over the bluish mark on Charles's arm.

"My friend, it's nothing," Charles dismisses, avoiding eye contact. _Breakfast?_

They eat in silence, and they certainly don't talk about it later.

*

It feels like it's been a week without sleep. It probably has been. Erik has managed to catch a nap or two here and there in the car between destinations, despite Charles' frightening driving skills, but the weariness is hard to shake from his bones without the aid of true sleep.

The days of searching for mutants are long, and combined with the driving, it makes for surprisingly exhausting work. After a much-needed drink at the hotel bar, both of them collapse against their pillows immediately after settling in to the room.

Satiated with the alcohol, the promise of sleep looks better than any other night before it to Erik. Charles is already passed out peacefully on his side of the room. Erik hopes it will stay that way for once.

*

Sunrise is only a few hours from approaching before the murmuring from the other bed starts.

Worry brews somewhere inside of him, and Erik gets up from his bed and claps his hand over Charles' mouth, desperate to stop the whimpering. Such painful noises coming from such a splendid creature.

Charles' eyes dart open. He flails and pulls away from Erik. "What the-"

"I was just trying to-"

"Trying to what?" Charles panics, backing away from Erik. A strange unease is obvious in his eyes, in the way he looks at Erik. "Trying to suffocate me in my sleep?" Charles sinks down to the floor after his accusatory question, back to the wall, blinking the haze of sleep away from his eyes.

Erik balls his hands into fists and without a word, seeks refuge in the tiny motel bathroom. He turns the bathtub faucet on with a twist of his finger, the dripping water eliminating from his head the echoing sounds of Charles' nightmare.

Erik strips off his clothes and folds them neatly beside the sink. One foot in the warm water, testing the temperature, then two. He submerges his entire body, keeping his face under the water. He holds his breath for as long as he can, then rises up with a sputter. He wipes the water from his eyes with his hands, then rests his arms on the side of the bathtub, eyes shut.

Many long minutes later, the door creaks open slowly. Erik hadn't bothered to lock it. Erik can feel Charles' presence in the room, can feel him standing in the doorway, even without looking.

 _I thought this had stopped when I was a child,_ Charles tells him, as if he's too ashamed to actually speak the words out loud.

Neither of them says a word, but the door never closes.

When Erik finally opens his eyes, Charles is sitting on the tile, knees pulled up close to his body. He's leaning back, and the back of his head rests against the edge of the bathtub, inches from the tips of Erik's fingers. He could reach out and feel a piece of the brown hair between his thumb and forefinger, if he wanted.

He does.

Erik stretches his fingers out just a few inches further along the cold surface and feels the delicate strands of Charles' hair against his fingertips.

After a second, Charles turns his face into Erik's touch. Skin against skin now, and Charles opens his eyes, just a fraction, to look at Erik. He makes eye contact, and they watch each other carefully, eyes locked in controlled gazes, no movement.

Erik caresses Charles' cheek with the back of his knuckle, the movement almost imperceptible, and closes his eyes once more.

*

The sweltering middle-of-the-night heat doesn't lend itself to much comfort. The busted motel A/C doesn't help, either. Erik resigns himself to the fact that sleep is probably unattainable at this point on their journey. A few stolen hours a night is all he'll ever get, and he's just going to have to live with that. He's coped in worse situations.

"We're doing good work," Charles tells him from the other bed as they prepare for sleep. "You should be proud."

"Oh?" Erik pulls off his shirt, desperate for relief against the heat. He rests on top of the sheets rather than underneath.

"Yes. Good night, Erik," Charles wishes him cheerfully, in an oddly chipper mood. "Sweet dreams," he adds as an afterthought. The irony of his statement catches in Erik's chest as he watches the other man fall asleep. It's strange, that despite all of Charles' apparent problems with Erik's methods and behaviors, he seems to be the more well-adjusted one in this regard. He can make it through the night without a screaming fit, anyway, which must count for something.

The nightmares eventually come, as they always do, night after night. Erik does wonder what they are about - he catches words here and there ("mum, please" and "Cain" and chilling, choked repetitions of "no"), but not enough to form any kind of story that makes sense. He wonders, but he will never ask.

The shaking, the tears, and the _pain_ start up, almost like clockwork after a certain amount of time passes. Charles flails until his whimpers curl up fast around Erik's heart, and he _can't_ , he just can't anymore.

Erik catches him, and Charles' eyes flutter open with awareness. He had wriggled close to Erik, exceptionally close, and their bodies are pressing up against each other in more than one spot.

Charles focuses on Erik for a moment, only inches away from the other man, faces so close that their breath is mixing in the space between them, hot air on each other's cheeks. Erik brings a hand up to Charles's cheek and uses his thumb to slowly wipe away the tears that he had shed in his sleep, letting his palm rest against Charles' flushed cheek.

There's a surge of sudden motion between the two bodies and Charles ends up with his mouth crushed against Erik's, the heat of the other man's tongue a welcome warmth, unlike the stickiness in the air. Charles' fingers scrabble at Erik to get a handhold, deliberately now, rather than the delirious clawing of a man in the vise of a nightmare.

Every nerve in Erik's body is set alight; every inch of skin that touches Charles' body is coursing with an irrepressible need. Erik brings his hand to the other man's neck for a better grip, angling Charles for a properly deep, open kiss.

"Charles," he murmurs, low and throaty, and the satisfactory reaction in the other man is visible. Erik winds his fingers in Charles hair and gives it a tug, and Charles gives a little gasp of pleasure, arching his back. The movement brings the lower halves of their bodies closer together, sparking a desperate yearning in Charles' eyes.

 _Please,_ Charles asks. Erik brings his mouth to Charles' throat and grazes his teeth against Charles' jaw.

"Ask me," he murmurs into the other man's skin. If he's going to be begged, he wants to _hear_ it.

"Erik," Charles pants, "please. _Please._ "

Erik takes one muscular arm and shifts Charles from his side onto his back, covering him with his own body.

"What do you want?" Erik asks, pinning him down and grinding his hips against Charles for extra emphasis. The lust brewing in his belly points out fiercely that the sight of Charles spread out underneath him is one of the most glorious things he's ever seen.

"You, Erik, please. Please, Erik," Charles lets out in a breathless stream. The repeated use of his name sends shivers up Erik's spine.

"Since you asked so nicely," Erik growls into the other man's mouth. He slides his hand between their bodies, kissing Charles with burning intensity. He pushes past Charles' waistband and Charles moans absolutely indecently when Erik's fingers find what they are looking for. Charles' hands scramble against the planes of Erik's shirtless back, palms pressed flat against hard muscle, his skin slick with sweat.

Charles' eyelashes flutter as Erik takes him in his hand; he stares up at Erik with piercing blue eyes that are filled with an eagerness for Erik to continue. Charles buries his face in Erik's neck as Erik gets him off, smothering a shameless whine against Erik's throat when he finally comes.

Charles looks up at Erik with sleepy, lustful eyes, and Erik can't help but kiss him. Deep and slow and contented, the kiss lacks the furious intensity of before, but it feels perfect all the same.

Erik slides away from on top of Charles and pulls the other man to him, back pressed against Erik's chest.

 _Let me keep you safe,_ Erik thinks, and Charles may or may not be overhearing his thoughts, the way he nuzzles into Erik, pulling Erik's arm around him tighter like a cage.

The night is full of dreamless sleep for them both.

*

By the time Erik wakes up in the morning, Charles is dressed and packed.

"Terribly sorry about last night. It won't happen again," Charles tells Erik casually as they load their things into the car. "It was a… thing, that's all." He mutters something about it being a product of the heat and chuckles under his breath.

"You can be awfully oblivious for someone who's supposed to be able to read other people's minds," Erik snaps at him as he loads their bags in the back of the car. He's not sure if Charles (who is already climbing into the passenger seat) hears him, or if he even wants him to. Once Erik gets in the car, their travel is silent.

Charles pays for a separate room that night with his own money. Erik finally sleeps for the second night in a row, blessed repose coming to him quickly, but upon awakening, finds himself unsettlingly unrested.

*

"No more," Erik says, cornering Charles and gripping his upper arms, backing him up against the wall. It's been three solid days of walking on eggshells. Three solid days of Charles turning away every time he looks at him. Three solid days of no conversation and no camaraderie of any sort. Three days of their previous encounter hanging wordlessly and unspoken between them. The tension is palpable.

"Erik, I can't-" His eyes are pleading with Erik to let him go, pleading for something else ineffable.

"Can't what?" Erik winds his fingers in Charles' cardigan (his stupid, stupid cardigan) and pulls. "This is who you are."

"I'm sorry," is all Erik gets from him before Charles pulls himself free and flees like Cinderella at midnight. There's no glass slipper left behind for Erik. There's not even a stupid cardigan.

*

Erik finds him several hours later half-drunk in the deserted parking lot. Charles is sitting on the back of the rental car they've been driving across the country, bottle of cheap American beer in his right hand. Charles peers at him with watery eyes, looking like a shamed puppy.

Erik sighs and takes a seat next to him. The car bounces a little under the weight of both of them. He steals the bottle from Charles and finishes it off, much to Charles' chagrin.

Both of them face straight forward, the only contact of the physical sort, their bodies pressed together so that they both fit on the car without falling off the sides. Sitting in the dark with Charles, Erik realizes for the first time how badly he wants to fix things. Erik has always found solace in _destroy_ and _damage_ and _justice_ , but he finds that now the only word haunting him is _repair_.

"You're not going to tell me what the nightmares are about, are you?" Erik asks, the first spoken acknowledgment of Charles' nightly afflictions.

"No, I don't think I am," Charles admits. _Maybe one day_ , he thinks, but the thought gets lost between their bodies. He steals a look at Erik, who is looking straight ahead into the night. "I'm sorry," Charles offers, and he means it. Erik nods.

Charles leans his head on Erik's shoulder tentatively. Erik snakes an arm around his back and pulls him closer.

"I thought I was taking advantage of you," Charles reveals hesitantly. "I think I may have been wrong." His voice is soft.

Erik leans his forehead against Charles' forehead. "See for yourself," Erik opts for (instead of calling him an idiot or a fool and smacking him upside the head), opening his mind up, ready to let Charles in. For Charles to have that immense power, to be able to see so much, and to not see _this_ is stupefying.

"I don't think I need to," Charles whispers, and maybe he's finally getting the point. Charles leans forward slightly and closes the tiny distance between their mouths. His hand comes up to cradle Erik's jaw, and Erik wraps his larger hand around it. When they finally pull apart for air, Charles' eyes are positively shining. "Can you forgive me for being utterly stupid?"

Erik kisses him again, firm and steady. This is something he wants to do again - the kissing, not dealing with Charles' ridiculous moral crises.

"It's late," Charles comments. "Or early, rather." The sun is beginning to come up, pinkish-orange glow on the horizon. "I'd wager you're rather interested in actually getting some sleep tonight."

Erik slides off of the car and holds a hand out for Charles. He stumbles a little as he descends, but Erik is there to catch him, twining their fingers together.

"Charles, my love," and Erik's chest pangs at those words, unexpected out of his own mouth. Is that what this is? He selfishly pulls Charles in for another slow kiss, lazy and languid as daybreak, and follows Charles back into their room.

"You read my mind."


End file.
